


my life's best part

by justahufflepuff



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Not A Fix-It, Other, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justahufflepuff/pseuds/justahufflepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tearing Ultron's heart out had been far too kind. Wanda wishes she had done it slower. That when she died, when Pietro had died, she had adequately conveyed how it felt to have your soul rendered from your body. How losing Pietro wasn't an all at once event; every second she feels him slipping away from her more and more. Some days she wakes up in a panic, unable to remember the sound of his voice. She can go a thousand places in her mind, shape hundreds of worlds, but she can't remember if Pietro tilted his head to the left or the right when he found something funny. </p>
<p>Never in her life has Wanda had to imagine a future without him. Now that she is forced to live in one she doesn't know what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my life's best part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamesstruttingpotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesstruttingpotter/gifts).



> So, this all started because I told my friend Katie: what if I wrote a fic about Wanda, post-Ultron? and she said: Maggie, why would you do that to yourself? and also: No, Maggie. Just no. Then my friend Cristine said: what's the point of having powers if you don't use them for evil. Thanks, Cristine. You get me.
> 
> That being said, I want you to know that this isn't a happy story. It's a story with happy moments, yes. Ultimately it is about a girl who has lost her entire family and the one person who knew her the best and the longest, and how she tries to cope with that.

There is a time, a precious few seconds wavering in between sleep and awake, where Wanda can forget. Morning fogs her thoughts and gums her eyes. Just for a moment, she thinks: Pietro will be waiting for me.

Then she wakes up and remembers. 

There is only place Pietro waits for her these days. She's too much a coward to join him there. 

She could control reality, bend people's thoughts and wills against them, make the world her own. But what is the point of world without her family? What kind of ideal world lacks the most precious thing she has ever known? She didn't see the point of it. Refused to see the point of it. 

When Stark's bomb had destroyed her house and her parents, she and Pietro had developed a system of staying sane. They would take turns acting as the calm one, tapping the other on the arm to signal a switch off. Time had passed haphazardly, dragging down and speeding up without any sort of pattern. Clinging together under the rubble and ruin of their childhood, they stared at the bomb and waited to die. She had been the one to make both of them say it out loud, acknowledge the truth hanging in the air. "We're orphans." Even now she could remember how the words choked her on the way out, how saying them aloud hadn't made them any more real. Wanda had believed, down to the very core of her, that nothing could feel worse than those three days. 

This did. 

Oh, this made the loss of her parents pale in comparison. Even as a child, she knew that she would outlive her parents. That was how life worked, after all. Especially in a war zone. 

Never once, not even during the experiments, did the thought of losing her brother cross her mind. 

Since the moment the cells that would become her starting splitting, Pietro had been by her side. He had seen her through her crush on one of the soldiers in town, she had laughed at him when he'd messed up their laundry and turned all his clothes pink. Sokova was full of war orphans. Often times the children got ferried off to safer countries, a different family for each child. Not the Maximoff twins. They stayed together. Always together. Side by side, hand in hand, twelve minutes and shared loss between them. 

Now... Sometimes, Wanda would leave spaces in conversations, natural gaps for Pietro to fill, and automatically glance to her side to make sure he said the words slow enough for everyone to understand. Except, no one fills them. Conversations with her sound like one end of a disjointed phone call. 

When the team eats (as a family, it's Sam Wilson who insists on this, they eat as a family. Wanda suspects that he does this to try and ease her loss. At least he tries.) She still pushes all of her broccoli to the side for Pietro to steal, grabs more potatoes than she could finish because Pietro could never just eat his own. No one ever says a word as she leaves the plate half full at the end of the meal. What the others do with the wasted food, Wanda doesn't know. 

Sometimes, when she's practicing with reality, she toys with the idea of bending her own. No one can figure out the true limit of her powers. She herself doesn't know. Hydra had never told her. 

But for all the times she has considered it, she's never gone through with the thought of changing her own world to bring Pietro back. It sounds selfish even in her head but more than anything Wanda is terrified of bringing him back and getting him wrong. What if she misremembered the way he told jokes, or how he formed his words? Having Pietro and resenting the little differences would hurt worse than not having him at all. 

It's just... She's never even tried. He's dead. Her twin brother is dead and there isn't any way she could twist it in her head so she didn't feel responsible.  

He had wanted to stay and she had sent him away. That's what it all boiled down to. She had told him to go, to get every single person to safety, not to find her until after he was done. Pietro had smiled, joked, and gone, because they had always listened to each other best, always followed the others advice. He had died doing what she'd asked. She had killed him.

Sam Wilson tells her that it's natural to blame herself, but that her brother made his own choices. That there was nothing she could have done differently. 

He's a kind man, Sam Wilson. Wanda appreciates what he tries to do for her. But he's lying. 

She could have told Pietro to stay. Then she would still have a brother. A family. She could feel on kilter again. Steady. She could have said nothing and Pietro would have stayed.  

Others would have died in his place, yes. Many of them civilians. She has never pretended to be anything other than selfish. What's her brother’s life against thousands? 

Everything.

Everything and more. She has not cried since the battle because she's not certain she would ever manage to stop. 

In the Hydra base, they had been experiments- yes, soldiers- certainly, but also- children. One of the guards had brought them every Harry Potter book as them came out. Pietro could read as fast as he could run. Wanda remembers him flying through the seventh book when she was still on the fifth, remembers him hurtling the book across his small room without warning. He had told her, his thoughts on the matter firm and precise in a way she didn't often see from his mind, that she was not allowed to die before him. 

Well. He'd gotten that wish.

They had clung to each other that night the way Wanda yearns to be able to replicate now; the safety of family and the comfort of touch rolled into the one thing they both knew for certain: in this world, the most they had was each other. 

Tearing Ultron's heart out had been far too kind. Wanda wishes she had done it slower. That when she died, when Pietro had died, she had adequately conveyed how it felt to have your soul rendered from your body. How losing Pietro wasn't an all at once event; every second she feels him slipping away from her more and more. Some days she wakes up in a panic, unable to remember the sound of his voice. She can go a thousand places in her mind, shape hundreds of worlds, but she can't remember if Pietro tilted his head to the left or the right when he found something funny. 

Never in her life has Wanda had to imagine a future without him. Now that she is forced to live in one she doesn't know what to do. 

'What, you didn't see that coming?' He had said it so often she hadn't needed telepathy to expect it. She remembers the first time he lapped the building successfully, how their laughter had been the only sound for miles. In that moment, forgetting the pain that had brought them there had been so easy. They were incredible, the pair of them. Bound to change the course of history. Every atom of Wanda longs to become a pair again. 

Hydra had always told them both, drilled it into their heads: you are as close to gods as humanity gets, but you are not immortal. Should someone put a bullet in your head, you will not get back up. So don't get shot. Pietro had always been fast enough, Wanda always smart enough, to make the issue a moot point. Hard to kill someone in your head. Hard to shoot what you can't see. 

Pietro, Pietro had run straight into the path of fire. Wanda hadn't seen it, but she had heard the story. There had been a boy left in the city. Clint Barton had gone back for him. Pietro had gone back for the both of them. 

When she had first heard, Wanda had shattered two walls of windows with her grief, drained the power from the whole complex. Clint Barton sat next to her in silence, one leg pushed up against her side, for the whole day it took to get things running again. 

The man her brother had died for. Clint Barton. 

Part of Wanda wishes she could hate him. Give herself a new target for the gaping hole in her consciousness, give her somewhere else to throw all of her pain. Clint Barton lives and Pietro doesn't. Nothing in her life ever comes out fair. 

Hating Clint would be easy, if it wasn't so damn hard. She remembers the way he had talked to her on the citadel, how he had looked at her like an equal and not a child. He had even seen her coming on the boat, taken her by surprise. Wanda had marveled at that once she recovered. No one could take her by surprise these days. She respects him too deeply to hate him. He had taken her brother away and she still respects him. It almost makes the pain worse. She can't even hate people properly any more.  

Most days she wishes no one had gotten her off that city. She died with Pietro and they want her to live on as if she hadn't. 

The Jewish do not believe in Heaven. This one life God gifted you is the one life you get. She will never see her parents or Pietro again. She is the last Maximoff left. Yet the world expects her to keep on living. What a cruel, unforgiving place.

* * *

When Captain America finds her, Wanda has holed herself up in the library. No one visits it often, she's made it into the perfect sanctuary. From the door no one can see her through the books. She likes it that way. 

"Sam and Rhodey say you're not speaking." The Captain says as sits down inside Wanda's protective circle of unread books. 

Wanda scoffs, turns her head away. As if she has anything worth talking about any more. 

They sit together for a few long minutes. She thinks Steve Rogers hopes he can outwait her silence. Fat chance. 

"When I lost Bucky," he says, and even without trying Wanda can feel how much his mind misses Bucky, how Steve aches with loss and, somehow, hope. "The first time I lost Bucky, I thought there was nothing left in the world left living for. He'd always been... I couldn't remember a life without him. I didn't want to try." 

Wanda presses her cheek against her leg and frowns. She doesn't remember any Bucky from the battle on the boat and Steve Roger's worst fears. Yet he claims to imagine no future without him. 

"If I had put my mind to it, I could've found a way off that plane. Instead, I went down with it. Didn't fight for a second. Buck was family. Closer than family. He was all I had left."

Now Wanda looks at him, eyes laser focused. 

"I don't remember blacking out. But I remember waking up. I remember the split second I thought heaven was a world where Buck and I hadn't gone to war." 

Steve Roger's face twists with a pain Wanda knows all too well, the private selfish kind that goes on and on. She reaches out, the tips of her fingers brushing his cheek. Not for the first time Wanda wishes her telepathy could work both ways, that Steve Rogers could see how completely she understands him now. Instead her touch gives her the glimpse of a man falling down, down, down, into a snowy abyss, followed by the reverse image: the same man's face, more ragged, more worn but distinctly the same, watching in terror as Steve Rogers falls down, down, down, into another grave he has chosen for himself. Another grave to grieve the love he lost. 

They understand each other. In this moment, her soul mirrors his own. Their loss echoes back and forth, regret and longing make up the lines of their face. 

"No one here would blame you, if you left." Steve says as his mind flicks through all the ways the mighty Avengers have broken. The picture he paints screams tragedy. These are creatures that know loneliness. 

Wanda aches with them, these lost and weary souls, but it does not make her any less broken. Their mutual losses do not add up to a world that still includes her brother. 

Her hand drops from Steve Rogers' face. She looks away. 

"Nat says you've earned this." Steve continues as if Wanda never turned away. He presses a small roll of paper into her hand. "Take as much time as you need."

He leaves. 

Wanda uncurls the paper in her hands. 

It contains two names. And an address. 

She curls her hand around the paper, careful not to crush it. 

Wanda stands up. 

* * *

It's nothing like she expected, Clint Barton's house. Now that she has seen, Wanda can't quite remember what she had expected. Not a two story farmhouse complete with barn and idyllic front porch. This looks like the America Hydra had taunted not the America that included Clint Barton. Wanda never pictured him this... Homey. Yet there he stands, on the front porch of his house, two small children swinging from his arms. 

She is still a ways away, sitting in the tall grass of his lawn. The whole way over she debated how to approach this, what to say. It seems an impossible subject to breach. Hello, Clint Barton. Help me. 

Wanda has never excelled at asking for help. Especially not when she desperately needs it. 

Hello, Clint Barton. I killed my brother. 

Hello, Clint Barton. The Black Widow says you know what it is like to be unmade. 

Hello, Clint Barton. I want to sleep without crying. 

Hello, Clint Barton. I see you have a family. Help me find a way to hold on to mine. 

Hello, Clint Barton. I don't know what to do. 

Hello, Clint Barton. I am drowning.  

Hello, Clint Barton. Please help me. 

Hello, Clint Barton. Please. 

Hello, Clint Barton. 

Hello. 

Even that much seems impossible. Words fail her. Actions undo her. She stares at the house and aches. 

* * *

When she wakes, Wanda finds herself covered in dew. A small girl stares down at her, curious. 

"Dad says breakfast is ready. He's making real waffles. Not even the kind from the box." 

Wanda blinks up at the child. The girl tilts her head. 

"Uncle Steve says you don't talk much. But Auntie Nat says you have good reasons. If you stay for breakfast, can I braid your hair? Auntie Nat's is too short for braids, and Mom is so busy with the new baby, but I really want to practice so I can do my own."

Wanda smiles. She likes Clint Barton's daughter. Her mind is a calm place, her words ring sincere. 

She stands up. 

The girl smiles back before turning around to go running back towards the house. Wanda follows, does her best to not feel out of place. 

No one questions her presence as she enters the house. Not the woman with kind eyes Clint Barton married, not the eldest child already sitting at the table. The girl who found her is nowhere to be seen but Wanda can hear water running from down the hall. 

"You must be Wanda." The woman says. The baby strapped to her front gurgles. "Clint's told me about you. Come in, sit. It must've been cold out there last night."

Wanda situates herself at the end of the table, farthest from the family and close the door. If she needs she can be out the house in seconds. She hopes she doesn't need an escape. She hopes they let her stay. 

"Cap or Nat?" Clint asks from the stove. 

Wanda doesn't answer but she thinks of Natasha Romanov, directs the thoughts towards Clint. 

He takes the development in their communication in stride. "Yeah, kinda figured. She likes you, Nat does." 

"Is Auntie Nat coming over?" The boy asks. 

"Not today, Coop." Laura says as she watches Wanda. 

"Do you work with my dad?" Cooper watches Wanda, too, swinging his legs as he tears apart bites of his waffle. 

She nods. This boy does not need her voice in his head. Even if his father is an Avenger, she's certain he's never encountered the stranger members of the team. 

"You really don't talk much." The boy says, mouth full of waffle. His words come out muffled but she understands him. 

"Cooper." Laura scolds, but Wanda looks up at the boy and smiles. 

"She's going to let me braid her hair!" The girl says as she re-enters the room, plopping herself down in the chair right next to Wanda and beaming at her. "It's gonna be great, I'm going to make her look like Princess Leia." 

Wanda laughs, delighted. When she was younger, she used to beg her mother to make her look like the Princess. She's glad to find the movies stuck around. 

Clint looks surprised at the sound, like he hadn't expected any noise to ever leave her mouth again. 

In his defense, Wanda hadn't either. Laughter had died on the citadel, too. 

"Well, the salon doesn't open until after a certain daughter of mine finishes her breakfast." Laura bounces the baby and gives her daughter a stern look. 

"Dad are there-?"

"Strawberries in 'em? I dunno, Lila. You're gonna have to eat and find out."

Wanda misses this, this easy back and forth of family. It's like she's sitting behind a glass wall, but for all she presses it doesn't break.

Lila shoves waffle into her mouth with purpose. 

When Clint doesn't sit down until everyone has a plate. To Wanda's surprise, that includes her. 

Around her the children chatter happily, the baby gurgles and grabs at his mother’s hair. The noise of the kitchen doesn't unsettle her the way it would have in the Tower. 

"The guest room's all done up." Clint says. 

Wanda looks up from methodically cutting her waffle into bite sized pieces. Food this nice didn't exactly make Hydra's menu. 

"It's not much, but Nat says the bed's pretty comfortable."

"You can sleep in my room instead, if you want." Lila says, tugging on Wanda's sleeve. "The sheets are outer space." 

Wanda likes it here. 

* * *

 

Just not enough, apparently, to stave off her truths. She wakes up screaming. 

The dream had started off the same always: she and Pietro practicing their gifts in the snowy woods. Pietro racing, Wanda creating. The middle always blurs and the ending always changes. This time, instead of creating pieces of the trees, Wanda creates pieces of her brother. 

She can't get the sight of his mangled body, his blood on her hands, out her eyes. At least, she thinks desperately, at least it is far too late to make this dream a reality. 

Her door creaks open. 

Wanda's hands glow red and she's half way through the motions required to slam the door in the intruders face when Lila yawns and shuffles inside. 

"Dad says sleeping lonely makes nightmares worse." She says, dwarfed by the galaxy and nebula covered comforter she wears like a cape. 

Wanda blinks. The red glow of her hands dims, then disappears. 

Lila crawls into the guest bed, throws the comforter haphazardly over Wanda's body, and curls up into her side. 

"'s hard to be scared when y're covered in stars." Lila tells her. 

The little girl falls asleep within minutes. Wanda lays back down, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. She tucks the blankets around Lila making certain the girl will stay warm and wake up feeling safe. When Wanda falls back to sleep she doesn't dream. 

* * *

Wanda loses track of how long she stays with Clint Barton and his family. She still rarely speaks, but she helps out around the farm any way she can. They are doing her a kindness, and no matter what Clint says that deserves repayment. Cooper watches with wide eyes as she moves the parts of their tractor around until it works, hands glowing red. Lila sleeps with her most nights, keeping her up with chatter and lulling her to sleep with her steady breaths and slight snoring. (Pietro had always snored. She remembers it keeping her up at night. Funny, the things she misses about him.) Laura prepares Sokovian food without Wanda asking, presents it without any fuss or fanfare, as if it's not one of the kindest gestures she has received in this country. Clint asks her to help with target practice and she does, picking up the odds and ends the farm doesn't need and tossing them high in the air, hands glowing red. 

The only member of the family Wanda avoids is the baby. 

Nathaniel Pietro. He carries her brother's name. Wanda doesn't know what to make of him, his happy laughter and sulky tantrums mirrored every other baby she knows, but his smile... His smile smacks of her brother. She's scared that if she holds the child once, she'll never let him go. That her subconscious will want too strongly and she will somehow change little Nathaniel Barton into little Pietro Maximoff. She would never forgive herself. 

So she doesn't touch him. She watches him, surely. Delights on the way he mirrors his namesakes. There is a fond smile she saves just for his teetering adventures in walking. 

Her father had always said Pietro learned to walk before he learned to crawl. Even before the experiments, he had been the fast one. His namesake looks eager to follow suit. When he takes his first unsteady not-yet-run, Wanda has to leave the room.  

* * *

Sometimes Laura and Clint leave her to babysit. Wanda doesn't mind. She likes Cooper and Lila, and Laura's acute sense of mercy means they always put Nathaniel down for a nap before leaving. 

She's sitting on the couch weaving intricate patterns into Lila's hair when Cooper finally brings up the one topic they have all been kind enough to avoid. 

"You have a brother, right?" He asks, pausing from his drawing to look at her. 

Wanda's hands still. She doesn't trust her voice, isn't sure what words would come out, so she settles for nodding. 

"His name's Pietro isn't it?" Cooper pronounces it 'pie-ay-trow'. 

"Pietro." Wanda corrects gently. "His name was Pietro."

Silence. 

Then, "Dad says he named Nate after two people who saved his life."

"No," Lila argues, "he says they named him for the two people he wouldn't alive without, dumbie."

"It's the same thing." 

"Is not."

"Is so! Auntie Wanda, tell her it's the same thing."

Wanda's throat closes up. She looks down at her lap. She has a vague fear her lip may have started trembling.

Both children are staring at her, eyes expectant. 

Words dry up in her throat. 

Clint Barton named his newborn child after two people who saved his life. Nathaniel Pietro. Knowing it and hearing it aloud are two completely different beasts. 

She has been doing such a good job, she thought, of pretending she can move on. 

One mention of the twin she no longer has and she's crumpled to pieces all over again. And Hydra had thought her strong. 

"Auntie Wanda?" Lila's voice sounds far away. 

Wanda swallows.   

"It's different." Even to her own ears her voice sounds hollow. "I'm sorry."

Leaving the house feels like running away. She does it anyways. 

She curls up in the tall grass, makes herself as small as possible. 

The night air bites cold and unforgiving against her skin. 

Wind shifts through her dress. A wild, fleeting hope lodges behind her heart. 

Pietro. 

She lifts her head, eyes glassy. 

Nothing. 

Sometimes a breeze is just a breeze. 

Wanda crumbles, and her resolve crumbles along with her. For so long she has fought to keep herself up right, eyes clear, face impassive. Now she gives up. 

Lying in the tall grass outside Clint Barton's house, Wanda cries as if she never intends to stop. 

* * *

By the time she has exhausted all the tears in her body, she feels as though she has cried enough to fill an ocean. 

Maybe she has. Maybe she has taken herself far away. She can close her eyes and pretend the grass against her body feels like bedsheets, the chirp of crickets is the hum of traffic and patter of feet on the ceiling. She is home, in Sokova, before everything in her life shattered. Pietro is in the room next door. Her parents move about the kitchen. Briefly, just briefly, she opens her eyes and it's real. Wanda is five years old again and the faded yellow walls of her bedroom greet her. She can hear Pietro as he runs down the hallway. It is so blessedly real. She sits up to throw her feet over the bed, to join them, to see them again even she knows, she knows she can't, when-

A dog barks in her ear, a warm tongue runs up her cheek, hot breath hits her face. 

Everything blurs and then Wanda sees a sand brown dog, and the endless stars, and nothing of her home. 

She closes them again. 

"Didn't mean to wake you." Clint says. 

The dog has flopped down on her lap despite Wanda's complete unwillingness to reciprocate affection. 

"Go away." 

"My dog's out here."

"Your children aren't."

"Not for lack of trying. Lila wanted to find you herself."

Wanda doesn't respond. 

"Cooper wrote you a note." 

She turns her head away. 

"It's okay to miss him, y'know. S'only natural. But let me tell you something I learned the hard way. Running away? It doesn't solve shit."

The grass rustles as he stands up. In her lap the dog makes no effort to move. Clint makes no effort to call it to him. 

When Wanda opens her eyes there's a piece of paper tucked under the dog's collar.  

She takes a deep breath. Let’s it out. Opens the paper. 

_Thank you for Pietro, Auntie Wanda_.  

The letters aren't straight, the text moves across the page on a slant. But the lines are precise, the penmanship near as though he had practiced writing this sentence out many times over. 

She folds it up carefully and tucks it into her inside pocket. 

Nothing feels any different. She still misses her brother. She will never stop missing her brother. They were always together until suddenly they weren't. Wanda still hasn't found a good way to reconcile that. 

Nothing feels any different. 

Yet everything is different now. 

There is a guest bedroom no one calls a guest room any more. Her favorite brand of tea sits next to Clint's shitty coffee and Laura's significantly less shitty coffee. The chair closest to the door in the kitchen always has a place set in front of it now. A baby smiles just for her. Two children call her Auntie. 

Everything is different now. 

She misses Pietro so much it hurts. 

Pietro had died, and Clint Barton lived, and there was a farmhouse desperately opening its doors to adopt her if she would just drop her guard enough to let it. 

She still grabs too many potatoes at dinner. Sometimes in conversations, she'll still turn to left for a response. She has been two for so long, she hasn't yet started to form the habits of one. 

Maybe here she could learn. 

* * *

Color creeps into the corners of the sky as she makes her way back to the house. 

On the porch, Laura sits with a sleeping Lila next to her and sleeping baby in her arms. As Wanda gets closer Laura smiles. 

Wanda's fingers brush Lila's hair and the girl stirs before turning over and falling back to sleep. 

"Welcome back." Laura says. 

Wanda musters her courage. "Can I stay here?"

"Clint has been taking about how we need another room. I wonder who that's for." Laura says. "If we didn't want you here Wanda, you would've been gone long ago."

Wanda has no idea what to say to that but it seems that Laura doesn't expect an answer. Instead, the woman who married Clint Barton stands up and hands Wanda her baby. 

"Time to get this one to bed. Might as well take her to your room, she'll end up there anyways. I'm warning you now, Cooper's already there. Pretend not to notice him when you get in. He thinks he was being very sneaky about the whole thing."

Wanda nods but she's only half paying attention to the words. 

Instead she looks down at Nathaniel Pietro Barton. He's almost one now. He has his mother’s dark hair. He's lighter than she thought he would be, softer and somehow more real. Wanda holds him close to her, presses her cheek to his forehead as she follows Laura inside. As Laura speaks of her children, Wanda thinks of her brother. He would've loved it here. Wanda loves it here. 

Nathaniel Barton stays Nathaniel Barton, warm and safe in her arms. 

"We're glad you’re here, Wanda." Laura says as tucks her two eldest children into the no-longer-a-guest bed. 

Nathaniel Barton yawns. 

Wanda smiles. 

 

"I know." She says, and she means it. "Me too."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me for this on [tumblr](http://enjoltush.tumblr.com).


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